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What would a clickbait Chateau Heartiste be like? “Anonymous” comments,

If CH writes a post now with a title like “Robin Williams Forced to Commit Suicide by Divorce Court System” he can get a lot of traffic and extra fame. One thing I suspect happened is that the family courts of California ruled that Robin owed each ex-wife 5 figure alimony sums every month regardless of any drop in his earning power or desire to retire. But he was a liberal who supported that kind of system overall.

There is evidence that suicide risk has a genetic basis, however, like most genetically-influenced behaviors, strong environmental shocks can suppress or trigger the expression of the genes. In the case of Robin Williams, his two ex-wives were the environmental shocks that pushed him to a final solution.

Robin Williams will return to TV after nearly three decades – because two divorces have left him short of cash.

The comic’s breakups cost him £20million and he claims to need a ‘steady job’. He is also selling his £20million California ranch due to his sizeable alimony payments.[...]

The 62-year-old, said: ‘Divorce is expensive. I used to joke they were going to call it “all the money”, but they changed it to “alimony”.

It’s ripping your heart out through your wallet.’

There is no “rape culture” as deranged feminist cunts starved for male attention would want you to believe. Rape rates are at historical lows. There is a divorce rape culture, and it has amassed a pile of real victims far larger than criminally prosecuted rape has claimed. Men are literally killing themselves out of desperation once the divorce rape industrial complex has taken everything from them.

And I do mean “them”. Williams’ ex-wives had absolutely NOTHING to do with his talent, his drive, and his career success. Nothing. And yet with the sanction of the state they walk away with pieces of the man’s soul, leaving him pondering the escape of the rafter rope.

Marriage has never been a bigger sucker’s bet for men. Prenups are routinely shredded by lawyers and ignored by judges. The fix is in. The fundamental premise has been codified in law to the cheers of rabid feminists and solipsistic soccer moms and taken to its logical conclusion: Men are resource chattel, milked by a constabulary of strongmen to redistribute their earnings to an army of cackling divorcees.

If America is fated to be a post-Malthusian, r-selection reproductive free-for-all, then let it be in every way. That means, women are cut loose from the male alimony and child support teat to fend for themselves and accept the consequences of their decisions. Relying on men for support, pre- and post-marriage, is a luxury afforded K-selection societies, and that luxury comes with certain duties that modern women have largely chosen to abandon. If justice is fair and not wholly rigged against the interests of men, the divorce rape culture will be dismantled and an ex-husband’s life may be saved.

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The careerist shrike is emblematic of social dissolution and sexual market atavism. Yet women have historically worked in some capacity, whether that was at home or in the fields. It’s a rare culture where the average woman lounges around all day while men and hand maidens provide her an endless stream of creature comforts.

The difference in this iteration of decivilization is the nature of the work occupying the energies and time of “modern” Western women (who are better categorized as premodern women aping the sub-Sahara African style of year-round female farming self-sustenance). “Working” women existed throughout European history, but the substance of their work and, more importantly, the people for whom they worked were markedly different than what we have now, distilled to its rotten essence in the manjawed, pulsing forehead-veined, tankgrrl lawyercunt.

A reader writes,

You said that “women are happier when they abide traditional sex roles.” That is very true, but most people do not know what the role of women was in unadulterated European society. Below is a link to The Moneychanger and his Wife, painted in 1539.

Notice the wife is working with her husband by making entries into the accounting book. Wives were usually expected to work in whatever trade the husband’s was. For example, a farmer’s wife did farming. This also included military ranks, for example the wife of an army count was a countess. Robert E. Lee’s wife was called “Mrs. General Lee.”

The wife was there to help her husband with his trade. Help would consist of cooking and making clothes so to free up his time, then any other time would be to work in that trade. In European civilization a husband and wife were considered partners. Often married couples would be hired as opposed to individuals. Ever notice the Queen sat next to the King?

Good point. Historians in the CH audience can attest to how widespread was the practice of European partnership-style marriage, where the wife’s role was employee to her husband-boss.

What the reader describes is a superior form of social system that redirects the natural female (of which “wife” is a subset) hypergamous instinct toward, instead of against, her husband. The working European woman of 1539 was working for her husband. Her lover and her comfort and her family was also her boss. In this arrangement it would be hard for her not to look up to him, and to admire him, and this admiration would translate quite easily into happy sexual submission. Her instinctual compulsion to surrender to a better man would be sated, and her marriage would thus be stronger.

What we have today is that same working-woman hypergamy now directed to powerful men who are not her husband. The modern wife leaves the world of her husband every morning to submit to sexy male rulers presiding over the parallel world she inhabits during the day. She still has a boss, but it’s no longer her husband. The temptation for her to cheat, either bodily or in mind, must be great. The male equivalent would be as if dutiful husbands were catered to on the job by a steady stream of swimsuit models. Even the firmest virtue will bend to perpetual succulent vice.

This is why I argue that feminist-inspired, female-aggrandizing public policies should be repealed. “Pro-woman” (aka pro-r-selection) policies like Title IX and mandated maternity leave create perverse incentives for a sub-Saharan female-forager style social system that channels natural female hypergamy toward company men and away from family men. Men — particularly men with little experience bedding women — have a hard time understanding this primal craving of women for higher status mates, because men don’t give a fig about female status. To help focus minds, recall what you as a man feel when a beautiful young woman poured into a slinky cocktail dress sits close to you and smiles. That’s what women feel in the presence of powerful male bosses commanding them to do their bidding.

Starting to feel a little nervous kissing your wife goodbye as she heads to work in the morning? You should. She’s doing something that most of her female ancestors never did.

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The Patriarchy is dead. God save the Patriarchy!

In the archives are CH posts about feminist utopias, how they would manifest and the signs that America is becoming a version of one.

If the lesson wasn’t yet clear, matriarchies suck. Historically and present-day, matriarchies (or facsimiles thereof) are associated with poverty, disease, violence and navel-gazing decline. Where a matriarchy is evolving, a civilization is devolving.

Here’s Exhibit M as evidence that we in the US may have crossed a matriarchal Rubicon (Boobicon?):

What used to be underground — gigolos, minus the tacit sex — has gone mainstream. A start-up is offering women their very own personal “ManServant“, or what we in the seduction domculture call “beta male orbiters”, “white knights” and “incels“.

It’s not a stripper who gets naked and rubs his greasy body all over you. It’s a ManServant: a gentleman who treats you like a queen. Book one for a bachelorette party or any gathering to be your personal photographer, bartender, bodyguard, and butler all in one.

How is a ManServant addressed?

A ManServant will answer to the name you’ve bestowed upon him, whether it’s Garçon, Bartholomew, or Ryan Gosling. [ed: John Scalzi and David Fatrelle were taken.]

What is a ManServant’s code of conduct?

A ManServant always responds with “As you wish.”

A ManServant shall address clientele with “My lady.”

A ManServant keeps his penis in his pants and out of the lady’s face.

The Rules to being a ManServant: The lady always makes The Rules.

What are some of the ManServant’s duties?

Takes photos.

Gives round-the-clock compliments.

Cleans up your hot mess.

Going to a ballgame? He’ll be your sports announcer, wait in line for the restroom, and get your hot dogs.

At the club, he’ll act as your bodyguard: secure drinks, shoo away douchebags, and drop off or pick you up curbside.

If it weren’t so ominous it’d be funny.

Naturally, women have to pay for these services, which is telling in itself. Women don’t value men for their penii or sexual prowess. What women value is what women will pay for, and that is male commitment, provisioning, and emotional support.

Just as naturally, real life ManServants get no nookie, because what comforts women in their moments of social need is not the same as what excites them in their moments of sexual need.

ManServitude is just about the end game of the feminist matriarchy. Strip men of all offensive male sexuality — essentially create a kneeling army of eunuchs — and set them loose upon the land to take photos of attention whores and cockblock men with dignity and a working pair.

How soon until ManServitude moves from plucky business venture to accepted cultural practice to legally enforced Damegeld?

Recall CH’s maxim about the true nature of feminism (and, related, the true nature of equalism):

The goal of feminism is to remove all constraints on female sexuality while maximally restricting male sexuality.

Welcome to AndrogyNation. Where the women are pushed to be men and the men are happy to be women.

I talk a fair bit about the decline of America, but theatrical aplomb aside I never seriously entertained the thought that the collapse of my country would happen within my lifetime. Now I’ve begun to wonder.

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The sexual market is not unlike the stock market; information bottlenecks are exploited by insiders for fun and profit. One such bottleneck is the value of white American men in foreign sexual markets. Because a man’s SMV is more contextual than a woman’s SMV, and because men’s romantic attractiveness is dependent upon multiple variables, including non-physical ones such as social status and charisma, it can be expected that a man will have different value to women in different parts of the world. Where his value is relatively highest is where he has the best chance of making sweet love to beautiful women.

MindFucked (priceless handle) performed an experiment to determine his value to the Unpolluted (non-American women).

Want hard evidence on your SMV in different countries around the world? Want to see what women in different countries REALLY look like and practice text game with them? Want to become even more disgusted with American women? Maybe you’re making a trip in a couple weeks and want to prep the field so you have willing sex partners as soon as you arrive.

Download a smartphone emulator. Bluestacks is my favorite. When you’re running it, go to the app store and download Tinder (the smartphone dating app) and a fake GPS application which will allow you to trick Tinder into thinking you’re anywhere in the world.

Put up a few photos of yourself, start swiping right, and wait for the results to pour in.

If you’re a white man, try doing this in Asia. It’s truly hilarious. China blocks Tinder so it doesn’t work there, but it works in every other Asian country.

While I can neither confirm nor deny if I’ve been to Moscow, reports from fellow world travelers give credence to the rumors: There is so much pulchritudinous street-strutting there that an American man unused to it will have his heart melt and crotch explode. And yet, vanishingly few American men trek to this magical Vaghalla. Why?

If this GPS-spoofing Tinder trick to gauge overseas female interest is revealing a huge pent-up demand for white American men in Eurasia, and the quality on offer in those faraway lands puts to shame America’s snotty, classless chubsters, then why aren’t more men moving to where the ass is leaner? Homo economicus is baffled.

Human nature is a tricky dick. Simple inertia explains a lot of inefficiencies in the sexual market. Most people prefer to envy good fortune from their couches than to move to where good fortune is within reach. Self-doubt explains more. American men might not believe they have a shot with beautiful foreign women because they are negatively conditioned by their effortful experiences with uninspiring American shrikes. They lack imagination.

Then, too, there is an innate desire, to greater or lesser intensity in each person, for a connection to blood and soil and kin. Our American women might be fat, entitled and unfeminine, but goddammit they’re *our* women.

Finally, we shouldn’t neglect the possibility that there are inherited ethnic dispositions towards one’s own representative women. Some white American men won’t find Asian girls, even the universally attractive ones who adhere to the golden ratio, very desirable. Russian girls, despite their legendary beauty, do tend to sport distinctive jutting chins, chiclet teeth, and broad faces that may not appeal to non-Russian whites.

I believe the reasons above, plus travel costs and unawareness of better options, account for most of the sexual market inefficiency in pairing up valuable white American men with pretty foreign girls who want them. For those waiting for the lid to blow off this underserved market, you’ll be waiting a long time.

Expat Americans like Roosh catch a lot of flack from envious haters, who smear his motives as those of a “sex tourist” who must “go overseas to score desperate peasant pussy”. But, what Roosh has done is what entrepreneurs throughout American history have done: Read the teat leaves, smartly calculate what’s in his best interest, take a huge risk, and create new markets that redound to his broadest (heh) advantage. How many American men have the cohones to uproot themselves and plant a flag in a strange land for a shot at a brighter life? It’s something white Europeans used to do all the time, and were proud of it.

The hate felt toward guys like Roosh is percolating envy, but it’s also something else: People hate reminders of their cowardice. Cowardice, perhaps, is the fundamental motivation that permits the continuance of this particular sexual market inefficiency.

The upscale demand is there, White American Man. Will you fill it?

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Liberals are gloating over the recent editorial choices to geld Thor and race cuck Captain America. The former will become Whor, the female Thor, and the latter will become Captain Gibsmedat, the numinous negro who saves the right kinds of white people from the wrong kinds of white people.

I kid, I kid… you not. The last time I read a comic I was 7. I don’t get the appeal of the genre to grown men with, presumably, descended testes. Nevertheless, the anti-white male animus driving these character changes that have shocked and delighted and stirred the quivering anuses of the comic book reading community are yet one more telling detail of America’s decline.

The decline is in the details.

One common thread to most of these anti-white male insurgencies is the cast of goons and misfits running the show into the ground. Take a look at this face shot of the fat white liberal quasi-male named Devin Faraci, who dribbled a premenstrual snarkstain titled “Sorry White People, Captain America is Black Now.”

Hat tip, League of Extraordinary Sadists.

The fat white liberal face is archetypal. These race traitors all have a “look”, don’t they? Genetics, perhaps, or just a lifetime spent wiping orange Cheetostaches off their porcine mugs. Look at that faggot. He could double as an old lesbian halfway through her hormonal replacement therapy. If ever a face looked as if it was born to have a fist buried in it, Faraci has it.

The anti-white liberal white male is the most loathsome of creatures. More despicable than the minorities he jerks off to, because he fulminates a credo at 180 degree odds with his chosen lifestyle for status whoring feels. Hypocritical, smug, and you just know the first to run from a fight, gathering his skirt up and shrieking like a little girl.

I wonder about the demographics of this pigman’s neighborhood? Anyone care to investigate? I might put up a post in future called “The Leftoid List”, with the names of infamous anti-white leftoid equalist turds juxtaposed with the race demographics of their immediate neighborhoods. Should be illuminating.

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A survey of 670 North American white collar workers revealed who is the unhappiest (and happiest) of them all.

According to the survey, the happiest workers are:

  • Male
  • 39 years old
  • Married
  • Have a household income between $150,000 and $200,000
  • Hold a senior management position
  • Have one young child at home
  • Have a wife who works part-time

while the unhappiest workers are:

  • Female
  • 42 years old
  • Unmarried
  • Have a household income under $100,000
  • Work in a professional position (i.e., as a doctor or a lawyer).

What we have here… is failure to assimilate to the feminist utopia. Some women you just can’t reach. So you get what we had here these past 60 years, which is the way ugly bitter feminists want it… well, they get it. Careerist gogrrl spinsters who go to sleep and wake every morning with a shiver of doom running down their necks. Unhappy 130IQ cat ladies as far as the eye can see, staining their graduate degrees with hot tears.

I don’t like it any more than you men, but I will leverage it for my personal gain.

Blame flies in all directions, but the most obvious one. The Bitches of Feastdick whine that their feminist droids are unhappy because men aren’t picking up the slack in the domestic sphere. Androgyne, Inc. stockholders say that women worry more about the home life and we need to help them worry less by mandating various stay-at-office motherhood initiatives, like on-site daycare.

They flail and they flog their plush lush lies that protect them from the stone cold truth… the truth that is incontestable and harmonious and rooted in eons of evolutionary blueprint:

Men and women are happier when they abide traditional sex roles.

Reject biology, feel unhappy. It’s that simple. Work within the contours of your sex’s biology, and you will feel like a finely tuned instrument discarding cacophony and alighting upon melodious serenity.

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New information has come to light which provides further support for the theory that Elliot Rodger was the practical equivalent of a male feminist who was pathologically introverted, romantically isolated, and who simply didn’t understand that men and women are psychologically different and require different courtship approaches. A family friend of the Rodger’s understood intuitively what was wrong with Elliot: He needed help meeting girls.

When a student, Elliot Rodger, went on a rampage in California in May, killing six people, one man began wondering if he could have prevented it. Hollywood screenwriter Dale Launer knew Rodger and had tried to help solve his problems with women. [...]

Launer: The Elliot portrayed in the manifesto and in the video he made was not the Elliot that I remember.

The person in that video was cocky, arrogant and hateful [ed: only in the end did Elliot become the jerk chicks dig]  – the Elliot I knew was a very meek, timid and awkward kid.

I first met him when he was aged eight or nine and I could see then that there was something wrong with him.

I’m not a psychologist, but looking back now he strikes me as someone who was broken from the moment of conception.

It appeared to me that he had an overwhelming lack of confidence but not in a particularly endearing way. Sad, but not endearing. [...]

He never raised his voice – he didn’t even seem capable of raising his voice. He didn’t slam doors or pound his fist. I couldn’t imagine him making a fist.

Beta males rarely get into fights. “Have you ever been in a fight?” is a question on the Dating Market Value Test for Men for a reason.

In retrospect, you can point out a few clues, a few cracks to the malevolence percolating underneath but they were overshadowed by someone who seemed incapable of any kind of action.

He did not simmer or seethe. The boldness he showed in that video wasn’t something I ever saw before.

Elliot knew (to himself) he was about to die in that final video. That freedom may have allowed his long-dormant inner alpha to finally come out and play. Or, he could have been hopped up on cocaine or Xanax.

We met a few times and emailed a lot. He seemed convinced that women hated him but he could never tell me why.

It seemed like he would perceive cruelness or hatefulness when in fact, I suspected, he was just being ignored.

This is the developmental process by which woman-hating betas are created.

I remember giving him an assignment once so he could try to establish some kind of dynamic with a woman.

I told him, “When you see a woman next time you’re on campus and you like her hair or sunglasses, just pay her a compliment.”

I told him, “It’s a freebie, something in passing, you’re not trying to make conversation. Keep walking, don’t make any long eye contact, just give the free compliment.” The idea being you might make a friend if you make someone feel good.

I said to Elliot, “In the next few weeks – if you see them they’ll likely give you a smile – and you can smile back and eventually turn this into chit-chat.”

I got in touch with him a few weeks later and asked if he did it. He said “no”. And when asked why not, he said “Why do I have to compliment them? Why don’t they compliment me?”

At that stage, I realised he was very troubled.

This isn’t half-bad advice. Launer had good intentions and, it seems, a fairly decent grasp of women and what Elliot would need to do to get over his crippling introversion. It’s basically newbie game. “Get out there, say SOMETHING to girls that isn’t a compliment of their beauty, and move on while you still have the happy high of making an approach. Get used to talking to girls first before you start spitting seduction game.”

Elliot didn’t do it. That’s the source tragedy. I imagine his victims would be alive today if Elliot had completed Launer’s task. But for the flight of a betaboy, a typhoon brews in the sea…

Here we have our first hard evidence that Elliot didn’t get women at all. Similar to cellar-dwelling manlets who think that any proactive effort to woo women is tantamount to “putting the pussy on a pedestal”, Elliot believed that it was beneath him to approach girls and start a conversation. In his world of equalist ignorance, women are just like men, except with different genitalia, so logically why shouldn’t women approach him to give him compliments? If his premises are right, you can’t really argue with his conclusions.

But of course his premises were all wrong. And who knows why they were all wrong. Mental illness? Pathological neuroticism toxicified with a dash of repressed narcissism? A dearth of savvy male authority figures who could educate younger Elliot about the realities of female sexual nature?

Elliot needed guidance. He needed an experienced man — not a weirdo coterie of emotionally retreating family kin shoving pills down this throat — to patiently inform him before the rot had set that biological differences between the sexes means that women will rarely, if ever, approach men directly to start conversations, that it is the man’s job, if he wants sex and love in his life, to break the ice. And that however unfair Elliot deemed this state of the sexes, it was a reality that would never change, and never go away. He had only one choice: To make reality work for him, instead of fighting futilely against reality.

In one of the last emails I sent to him, I became quite frustrated.

I pointed out that he had the choice to change his circumstances, and if he didn’t make the effort then he had to take some of the blame. He insisted that, “I have to blame someone for my troubles, and I don’t blame myself.”

It appears that by the time Launer intervened, Elliot’s romantic ignorance and ego self-preservation had consumed him. He was beyond help. I wonder if Launer would have had more positive impact had he explained to Elliot WHY he needed to do his newbie game drill rather than just giving him the task without justification for it. Most unenlightened men who come to the Chateau to learn the ways of the crimson arts are first introduced to a steady diet of knowledge about psychosocial sex differences before the juicy game strategies are revealed.

One time there was a gathering at his parents’ place and Elliot was his usual uncomfortable self.

I asked Peter if Elliot was ticklish. Peter said he was, so I encouraged a couple of women to tickle him and you know, that was the only time I saw Elliot express any kind of joy. It seemed that, at least for those moments, he was a normal kid.

A woman’s touch is water to a parched man. Sad, sad Elliot. Game can save lives. But only for those willing to see.

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